


Canvas

by geekinthejeep



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sam and tattoos, Sam-Centric, let sam have tattoos 2k17, minor original characters, sam and consent issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9577904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekinthejeep/pseuds/geekinthejeep
Summary: The tattoos start with a night of tossing and turning and anxiety, and become a way for Sam to remind himself that he’s alive, of those around him, and as memory keepers for what he’s lost.A series of three-sentence(ish) vignettes for the prompt “Sam + tattoos.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in December for cheerfulsammy on Tumblr as part of the Bitter Sam Girl Club secret santa exchange and finally moving it over here. The prompts were for Sam and tattoos, smiles, hugs, languages, children, and books. I focused on “tattoos,” but tried to include each because tattooed!Sam is very important to me.
> 
> The formatting for this isn't very friendly for AO3. Well, the format is just weird overall but whatevs, right?

The idea starts forming in his head after his rescue from the British Men of Letters, as he lies there staring at a crack in the ceiling above him and rubs at that spot over his heart where his tattoo should be. It spares him from having to think about his mother lying in her own bed a few rooms down from his own, or Dean drunkenly dozing against a cupboard in the kitchen, or the phantom burning in his foot…

Sam gives up on sleep then, and retrieves his laptop from his desk to start researching.

* * *

A literal lifetime of paranoia and being overcautious leads him to a tattoo parlor hours outside of Lebanon, to some little hole-in-the-wall place up two flights of stairs past the pizzeria where the air smells vaguely of grease of antiseptic and cigarette smoke and the floor and countertops shine, belying the surprising cleanliness of the place.

The tattoo artist chats nonsensically about whatever comes into his head – the current state of politics, those “gross ass school lunches kids get nowadays; when I was in school we got actual food, you know what I mean?”, the wampus cat haunting the forests outside of town – as he works, quickly and efficiently turning the stencil into a bold tattoo against Sam’s chest. When he’s done, Sam is left with a near-perfect replica of his original anti-possession tattoo over his heart and the feeling that his breaths are coming a bit more easily with that tiny bit of weight off of his shoulders.

* * *

“When did that happen?” Dean’s voice breaks the silence as they both shuffle into their fed suits in the motel room, and he’s pointing at the anti-possession tattoo on Sam’s chest.

Sam shrugs, trying for nonchalance as he turns away to retrieve his button-down shirt from his duffle bag, “Few weeks ago. I figured it was about time, you know?” he answers quietly.

Dean grunts and shifts his attention to his tie, but there’s a tension that seems to disappear from around his eyes as his fingers deftly work on a knot.

* * *

Dean drops him off outside of the parlor hidden back along a side street in Palo Alto once their hunt is finished with a quirked eyebrow at the paper clenched tightly in Sam’s hand and a mutter about the bar he saw a few blocks back.

His artist this time is a quiet, no-nonsense woman who grunts her questions at him while she studies the design, then motions him into a chair and gets to work, content to listen to the crackling old mullet rock coming from the speakers while Sam sinks into that trance-like state he’s come to appreciate as endorphins rush through him.

The watercolor sunflower and forget-me-not are a simple splash of color on his bicep, but he thinks Jess would approve of them all the same.

* * *

Dean is gaping, mouth opening and closing like a particularly undignified fish, with his hand hovering just over the new ink on Sam’s arm.

“You like it?” Sam asks, eyes twitching to his brother and away to the floor in an unconscious show of anxiety.

“It’s… Yeah.” He mumbles, gaze tracing the ink army man balanced precariously on a pile of brightly-colored Legos and blinks away the sudden wetness in his eyes, “Yeah. I like it.”

* * *

The next is for him alone, a desperate shaky need for reassurance and control in the wake of their last encounter with Lucifer. He returns to that original tattoo parlor above the pizzeria, and the artists face when he sees the design that Sam has brought for him is nothing short of comical.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, man?” He looks back at the paper, then to Sam, and back before sighing and turning to his equipment, “Sure, why not? I haven’t got anything better to do this year.”

* * *

The grand pentacle of The Seal of Solomon takes five sessions. Five long drives to Topeka and back, careful not to lean back against the seat of the old truck he’s borrowed from the Men of Letters garage, and five hours-long sessions of listening to the artist, Corey, mumble good-naturedly about Sam’s insanity and the money he was shelling out for this tattoo.

But, when it’s finally done, he feels like he can breathe a sigh of relief; maybe it won’t protect against Lucifer, but that feeling of relief every time he glimpses the ink in the mirror is enough.

* * *

The army tags tattooed just below the watercolor sunflower are for his father, in memory of a man he could never really get along with but had loved and admired all the same.

The daisies twining their stems through the tags’ cord are for Mary. When he shows her, she wraps her arms around Sam in a hug that has started to feel more and more like home each time.

* * *

He’s more anxious about the next tattoo: a perfect representation of Tolkien’s original drawing of Smaug, resting on a stack of colorful books, on his forearm for Charlie and Kevin. Is he allowed to memorialize the life of two friends whose blood still stains his hands?

The little girl whose father was just stolen from the family camping cabin by a wendigo seems to approve just fine, tracing her tiny fingers over the edges of the books and latching herself against Sam’s side for the extent of their investigation.

* * *

The next time he walks into that tiny tattoo shop in Topeka, Corey groans and holds out his hand for the paper, “What now? A Third Pentacle of Jupiter? A Celtic shield knot? A… A Helm of Awe. Holy hell, dude.”

“Maybe I’ll get the shield knot next round?” Sam suggests bashfully as he settles into the chair and waits for the stencil to be placed just below his collarbone.

“You’re going to keep this shop open yourself at this rate.”

* * *

Castiel tilts his head to the side, studying the inky black feather with his name in Enochian tattooed near Sam’s shoulder, “And this is… Representative of me?”

“I… Yeah. I figured you’d rather it not be too showy.” Sam responds, shrugging and ducking his head, “Is it… Not okay?”

“The Boy Who Saved the World has chosen to have a representation of me on his mortal flesh. It is… More than satisfactory.” Castiel concludes finally with a nod that ends the conversation.

* * *

He goes back to Topeka a few months later to get that shield knot.

Dean studies it, hidden as it is by the hair at the back of Sam’s neck, with a cocked eyebrow, “You planning to slow down on these anytime soon?”

“I’ve still got plenty of canvas left.” Sam responds, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> [[Grand Pentacle](http://www.themysticdreamacademy.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/the-general-pentacle-called-the-Great-or-Grand-Pentacle.jpg)] - [[Helm of Awe](http://norse-mythology.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/Helm-of-Awe-%C3%86gishj%C3%A1lmr.png)] - [[Smaug](https://heirsofdurin.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/dragonsketch.jpg)] - [[Shield Knot](http://symboldictionary.net/library/graphics/symbols/shieldknot4.jpg)]
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr at [GeekintheJeep](http://geekinthejeep.tumblr.com/).


End file.
